The Honourable Thomas Barrow

by Orchidae

Summary:

Thomas Barrow's life is changed forever when an old friend of the Crawleys comes to visit and suddenly declares that Thomas is his long lost son. He always thought he was destined for greatness, but this is a bit much...

Notes:

After a really long hiatus from any serious writing I've just decided to jump into this project I've been playing with for several years. Like many of my stories the premise came about as a joke but soon escalated into a real story.

Content warnings: Mentions of infant death and kidnapping, mild mentions of past abuse, period typical homophobia

Chapter 1: Chapter One

 

Dear Sir,

I enclose this letter at the request of Mrs Rosalyn Barrow who entrusted it to me during her final confession as I performed her last rites.

Sincerely

Father John Finnerty

 

*

 

To Lord Merton

I hope this letter finds you well, I was sorry to hear of the loss of your wife. However in light of Lady Merton’s passing and my own declining health I feel beholden to pass on something of great importance. You might not remember me, but about twenty years ago I was hired as a nurse for your eldest son, Frederic, at Radcliffe House after Mrs Grey passed away. I had just had a baby of my own and my husband’s business was in trouble, so I decided to go back to work in service to tide us over. 

Mrs McLeod was kind enough to allow me to bring my son with me to stay in the nursery. Although it was tiring work looking after two newborn babies, I was very happy to do it. The time I was able to spend with my son during those months was a gift that I think of often.

The babies could have been twins. They were born only a few days apart, both blue-eyed and pale with a shock of black hair, you couldn’t find a sweeter pair of little boys.

Three months after I began working at Radcliffe Hall, the boys were both taken ill with scarlet fever, only it was far worse than anything I had ever seen. They were both suffering terribly. A doctor was called but we were told that the disease had progressed to rheumatic fever in both cases. For days I nursed them. I watched over them all night and hardly slept.

I do not wish to recall what happened that night, but I must. During the third day, my little Thomas died during the night. Meanwhile Frederic’s fever had broken, and he seemed to have turned a corner as his cries woke me up just before dawn. I held my son’s body close and wept. I don’t know how long I stayed that way; it could have been hours. Then, and to this day I can’t explain why I did it, I swapped their swaddling clothes and lay Thomas in Frederic’s cradle, and then I called for help.

Perhaps I was mad with grief. Perhaps I couldn’t accept that Thomas was dead. Perhaps it was the unfairness of it all that my child had died but yours had not. I blamed myself for so long. If my attention hadn’t been so divided between them, perhaps I could have taken better care of him.

I couldn’t believe what I had done, and I instantly regretted it. What a monstrous thing to do to take a little boy from his family and let them believe he was dead. I was certain someone would notice. That they would be able to tell the difference between them or else see the guilt upon my face, but nobody questioned it. You were away in London and when you came home I was certain you would know but nothing happened and they buried my Thomas in the Grey family tomb in Frederic’s place. The other servants weren’t as close to the children as I had been, they didn’t know the nuances of their faces. I desperately wished to take it all back, to confess, but the seriousness of what I had done could ruin my entire family's lives.

Some months later our financial situation had gone from bad to worse, my husband and I  had to go without most days so that we could feed the children and I decided that the right thing to do was throw myself on your mercy, because at least little Frederic would be where he belonged and taken care of. I was instead seen by Lady Merton who after I had explained the situation offered me a substantial amount of money to remain quiet and continue to raise Frederic as my own. I felt dreadful accepting her offer, but it would help my family’s circumstances immeasurably and the Baroness heavily implied that she would make life very difficult for me if I refused her offer.

I don’t expect any forgiveness for what I’ve done, but with this letter I hope to mend what I have broken. We raised Frederic as our own under Thomas’s name. In the years that followed and with Lady Merton’s financial backing, our fortunes changed and we were able to send him to grammar school and give him a proper education. He is alive and well and currently working in Yorkshire. If you wish to meet him, please contact my husband at Barrow Brothers Clockmakers on Oldham Street in Manchester.

With my deepest regrets,

Rosalyn Borrow

*

 

Manchester 1912

The clockmaker’s had seen better days. The gold paint on the sign was chipped and the windows were dirty, and the inside had a thin layer of dust on the glass cabinets and counters. To make things worse the proprietor looked extremely surprised to see a customer as the bell rang above the door.

“Mr Barrow?” Dickie Grey asked, assuming that this was Mrs Barrow’s widower. The man was in his fifties, stocky, with greying brown hair.

“Yes sir, how may I help you?” the man said.

“My name is Richard Grey. I was hoping I could speak to your son.” Dickie began.

“Davey? There’s a gentleman for you?” The man called upstairs before he could finish.

The boy who appeared from what was presumably a flat above the shop, couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and took Lord Merton by surprise. He hadn’t realised that they had had another son. The boy bore such a striking resemblance to his father that Dickie couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what the real Thomas Barrow might have grown up to look like had he lived. The thought rather knocked the wind out of him. How would these people react to the news he had brought.

“No, your other son.” Dickie corrected, sadly.

“Mother of God, what’s he done now?” Mr Barrow said, as though Dickie had told him he had contracted a particularly nasty disease 

“Excuse me?” Dickie asked, confused by the reaction.

“Thomas? Dad? But you said-” the boy, Davey said, looking equally baffled.

“Get back upstairs!” His father shouted with such ferocity that Dickie forgot for a moment that he was a lord and Mr Barrow had no power at all. Mr Barrow turned back to him nd growled. “He don’t live here no more. Hasn’t done for years.”

Dickie stood up a little straighter, not letting himself be intimidated.

“Well, can you tell me his address? It’s rather important. I was sorry to hear of you wife’s passing. That’s why I didn’t come here sooner. But before she died, she sent me this letter. You see, Mrs Barrow used to work for me when I was living nearby, at Radcliffe House, do you remember?”

Realisation dawned on the shopkeeper's face.

“You must excuse me your lordship, I didn’t realise who you were.” Mr Barrow said, his tone changing from hostile to deferential.

“This is your late wife’s handwriting, is it not?”

“Yes,” As he read the letter Lord Merton presented him with, Mr Barrow he made no effort to hide his shock.

“You understand now, why I’m here.”

“I always suspected he weren’t mine. He never looked like any of us. Growing up in our house like a ruddy great cuckoo. I thought my Rosalyn had been untrue to me. I hate to say, because he were just a baby and there weren’t nothing rational about it, but I took against him from the very beginning.”

“Please, you must know where he is.”

“My son is dead, sir. He’s been dead this whole time, buried in your family tomb.”

“And I’ll certainly help you to rectify that and return his remains. I’ll even pay for a new service if that’s what you want but my son is still alive, and I must find him.” Dickie cried, his frustration boiling to the surface. “I haven’t involved the police since I’m convinced that you had no knowledge of this. I thought we could discuss this like gentlemen. But I will call them if you continue to be uncooperative. They would certainly be interested to know about the money my late wife had been giving you. Did you know where it came from or were you wise enough not to ask any questions? To someone unaware of all the details, it might look like you were blackmailing my wife…”

“He didn’t give us a forwarding address,” Mr Barrow sighed in defeat, “and if he had I would have burned it. But I suspect our Agnes will know, my daughter,” he clarified, writing down an address for somewhere in Saddleworth. “Here’s where you’ll find her.”

“I am most grateful.” Dickie said. Finally, he was getting somewhere with this bizarre man.

“She works day shifts at the Delph Factory, the little traitor, but she should be home by the time you get there ”

“Excuse me?”

“The clock factory over there. Not that I blame her really, I can’t afford to pay her here.”

“Oh, right,” he supposed it must sting a bit if one’s own daughter was working for a company that was actively putting you out of business.

“Do you have other children, sir?”

“Yes, two boys.”

“Then take my advice. Forget about Thomas. Acknowledging him will only bring you ruin, and it’ll ruin all of us and all once the news gets out. Who’s going to buy a clock off the husband of an infamous child kidnapper. Everything that boy touches turns to ash. Ros had lofty dreams of having him join the priesthood, if only to keep him out of trouble, but there isn’t a godly bone in his body.”

“Priesthood? You mean to say you’re a papist?” Dickie said, alarmed.

“That’s exactly what I mean to say, and so is he, confirmed and everything. Do you have a problem with that, sir?”

“No, not at all. Although it is… unideal.”

“Like I said. You have your heir. Why would you invite trouble to your door?”

“You certainly have a different idea of fatherhood than I do Mr Barrow.”

 

*

 

“That certainly explains a lot.” Agnes Barrow, now Agnes Littleton sighed as she too read Mrs Barrow’s letter. Dickie had taken the train to Saddleworth and had needed to ask around several people until someone gave him directions to the little workers cottage where Agnes and her husband lived. He was met by a petite and kindly young woman with a baby on her hip and two older children of about five or six playing under the kitchen table. Mrs Littleton had been far more agreeable than her father when he had explained his predicament and had served him tea in the front parlour.

“How do you mean?” Dickie asked.

“Mum were never the same when she came back from that place, sir. I were only little at the time, but she were always… troubled. Dad said that she felt responsible because the young master died under her watch and that seemed like a reasonable explanation, but she never healed from it. If any of us fell ill she would have these fits of crying and never leave our bedsides. That and Thomas never looked like anyone in the family. I used to tease him that he was a changeling swapped by the fairies.” she chuckled, “It’s not that far from the truth when you think about it. And here, see, she mentions that Lady Merton paid her to stay away. We were really struggling financially at the time, until one day, mum claims an uncle of hers has passed away and left her all his money. Dad didn’t believe her, but it was that or losing the shop so he didn’t argue.”

“Your father seemed quite intent on discouraging me from pursuing this. What happened between them?”

“Oh, he were always hard on him, our dad. Hard on all of us really, but our Thomas got the worst of it.” her bright eyes dulled, “Everything that went wrong were always Thomas’s fault. One time the shop was burgled, along with a few others on the street, but Thomas was to blame for the whole thing because he didn’t check if the back door was locked.”

“I see.” Dickies first impression of Mr Barrow seemed to be correct.

“Then Thomas got bigger than him and started standing up for himself. It were like living on a battlefield sometimes. The screaming matches they had, the tense silences. Dad would constantly threaten to disown him and force him out of the business. That would normally keep him in line. Thomas loved working in the shop, and he’s a very good watchmaker. He was only a year away from completing his apprenticeship before…”

“Before what?”

“It’s not my place to say, sir. Would you like to see a picture?” she said, the abrupt change of subject making it clear that would not discuss the matter further.

“Very much.”

“This was taken at my wedding. He must have been about fourteen here.” She said as she fetched the photograph from the bureau in the corner.

Dickie could only make a strange, choked noise at the sight. There he was, a boy growing into manhood, already taller than the rest of his family, dark where they were fair, handsome where they were ordinary. He could see his younger self in the boy’s pale eyes and thick sweep of black hair. He could see Elizabeth in the shape of his lips and the angle of his cheekbones.

“Where is he now?”

“Dad threw him out,” she said but didn’t elaborate further, “I was already married by then, I left that place the first chance I got. So, my husband and I put him up for a few weeks, and then a friend of mine in service helped him find a job.

“In service?” Well at least he wasn’t destitute, but things were beginning to look worse and worse. What if Thomas worked for someone he knew and had waited on him but he had never noticed? The thought was too awful to bear. “But why didn’t he just find another apprenticeship?”

“Those are hard to find these days, clockmakers are going out of business all over the place and those that are still going try to keep it in the family. And it turned out Dad had told all his contacts about what had happened and well, they as good as blacklisted him.”

“Then why not work with you at Delph’s?” Dickie asked, it just seemed like such a strange departure, especially for someone who had almost completed an apprenticeship.

Agnes looked as though he had backed her into a corner.

“He thought that service would better suit his temperament.” she said finally. If she was implying what he thought she was implying then that would explain the huge falling out between the boy and Mr Barrow. Service provided a good cover for men of certain inclinations since they weren’t expected to get married. 

“Do you know where he is now?”

“He was working for Lord Crawford up in Haigh but he moved on from there to another house about two years ago. A much bigger one. Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. Do you know it, your lordship?”

It was ridiculous. Dickie felt as though he were a character from a Dickens novel. Not only was his eldest son not dead, but circumstances had led him to the house of his dearest friend, and his late wife’s cousin. If Ada hadn’t completely alienated them from the Crawleys so many years ago, he might well have encountered his own son serving him tea in the library, or veal cutlets in the dining room.

“Yes,” he said, breathlessly, “Yes, I know it.”

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Summary:

In which Lord Merton pays a visit to Downton Abbey

Chapter 2

 

Dear Robert

Let me offer my deepest condolences and my deepest apologies for not being able to attend the memorial service for James and Patrick. Since Ada’s death there have been matters of some urgency that I have needed to attend to. These matters involve you as well, I’m afraid and now that your family are out of mourning I would ask to pay you a visit to explain everything in more detail.

Your friend

Dickie

 

*

 

Even after so many years Dickie couldn’t help but be intimidated by Downton Abbey. It had been remodelled by Sir Charles Barry back in the 1840s who had practically turned the place into a fortress, as though someone had dropped the houses of parliament onto the Yorkshire Dales. Although his beloved Elizabeth had never lived in that great house she had been in and out of it all her life, spending long childhood summers with her brother James and her cousins Robert and Rosamund while their parents spent the season in London. They were always having adventures in the woods and putting on fanciful plays about pirates. She had shown him a photograph of one of these productions where she had been a page boy and Robert had been dressed as Marie Antoinette. How he had wished he had been allowed to join them instead of being shut away at Cavenham Park with only his tutor and the servants for company. 

His father hadn't been happy when he had proposed to Elizabeth Crawley since she had no real dowry to speak of and no hope of inheriting anything, but her family connection to Lord Grantham had mollified him somewhat. Dickie hadn't cared, and had found his new in-laws showed him more kindness than his own family ever did. They had moved into one of his father's smaller properties near Manchester, he had joined the Liberal Party and tried his best to make it as a Member of Parliament and for a few short years they had been blissfully happy.

The birth of their first child that they had been anticipating with such excitement had been a difficult one. The baby had survived, perfect and healthy, but when Elizabeth's condition didn't improve and some days later declined rapidly he had never felt so helpless. Sepsis, the doctor had said, it had gone too far, there was nothing they could do. Then months later his son had also been taken from him. 

His father, completely unsympathetic, had strongly encouraged him to remarry and soon. The estate was close to bankruptcy and a bail out from some rich American seemed like the only thing that could save it. Dickie had been so depressed he had passed through the whole arrangement in some sort of fugue state. 

He was drawn out from his reverie as the car slowed to a halt on the gravel driveway. The servants had been lined up by the front steps, opposite the Crawley family. Dickie instinctively looked over the male staff worrying that Thomas might have already moved on to another job. But there he was, the sullen boy from the wedding photograph now very much a man but no less sullen. He was more athletic than Dickie had imagined, there was an elegance to his posture that the second footman lacked.

Cora looked as though she hadn’t aged a day in the ten years or so since he had last seen her and the girls had all grown into beautiful young women, Sybil being the only one still wearing her hair down as she was not yet out. Dickie remembered when Larry was eight he had developed a bit of a crush on her and had expressed it by chasing her around with a dead frog he had found. 

“Dickie, old chap. Really, it’s been too long.” Robert came bounding down the steps as enthusiastically as the golden Labrador at his heel.

“Robert. I was so sorry to hear about James and poor Patrick. He had just written to me before he left saying he needed to go to New York earlier than planned, isn’t that awful?”

“Yes, we’ve all been very upset.” Robert replied. “And my condolences about Ada. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, well, the boys took it especially hard.” Dickie said awkwardly. It shamed him but when Ada had passed away suddenly from a heart attack, in the middle of an especially fierce diatribe about how useless he was, his first reaction, before he had rushed to her side, was relief.

“We were about to have tea, Lord Merton, would you care to join us?” Cora offered.

“I would be delighted to, in a moment, Lady Grantham.” Dickie apologised, “I’m afraid I came here for more than a social visit. Robert, may I speak with you privately? I’m afraid it’s quite urgent.”

“Yes of course. Good heavens, is everything all right?”

“Quite all right. In fact, it might be the first bit of good news I’ve had in years.”

 

*

 

“Thomas! Are you sure?” Robert cried, after Dickie had told him the whole story and sank into one of the plush armchairs in the small library.

“Quite sure. And after speaking to the surviving members of his family, they seem convinced as well. It might be difficult to prove it legally. Oh, even if we can’t get him declared alive, I’d still like to do something for the lad, set him up somewhere or… but he is Freddy. He is my son. He’s James’ nephew. He’s your cousin!”

“Well, first cousin once removed, technically.” Robert corrected, “Thomas? But he’s seen me in my underwear, Dickie! I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“It’s quite an unusual coincidence, I’ll give you that.”

“And this woman, this Mrs Barrow just took him? What sort of monster would do such a thing?” Robert said disapprovingly.

“Grief does terrible things to people. But I can’t condemn her entirely, she did try to put things to rights.”

“Yes, after apparently taking Ada’s money for all those years. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead but if Ada knew about this the whole time and never told you, before she even had Larry, might I add… well that’s an abominable thing to do.” Robert took a large swig of scotch. “Is there any way to prove it? You know Ada’s family are going to contest this. As far as they're concerned, your father grossly misled them about the power and influence he wielded. Throwing his connection to Lord Grey around and whatnot. They'll see disinheriting Larry as adding insult to injury.”

“Actually, I might be able to provide proof. When Freddy was born, Elizabeth and I arranged to have his hands and feet cast in bronze as a keepsake. My lawyer tells me that an expert could compare Thomas’s fingerprints to the ones on the casts and conclude whether they belong to the same person.” Dickie said. 

“It all sounds like something from Sherlock Holmes. Will they really be able to tell?”

“Yes, apparently the print pattern never changes over a person’s lifetime, and the chances of two people having the same fingerprints is nigh on impossible.”

“If only James were alive to see this.” Robert marvelled. “To find out his nephew has been alive this whole time.”

“He’d probably think it was all balderdash.”

“Yes, I believe he would. But if the evidence was compelling enough he would have been overjoyed. He was never quite the same after Elizabeth died.” Robert said. “I’ll have Carson call the lad up.”

“No, no. We must be discreet about this. We can’t announce anything until we are certain, I will not let Thomas be the subject of gossip or public ridicule if these allegations turn out to be false.”

“Golly, I never thought of that.”

“Were you aware that Thomas was once an apprentice clockmaker?” Dickie asked.

“As a matter of fact I was. It was one of the reasons Carson hired him.” Robert said proudly, “He’s saved us so much on repairs I feel I should give him a pay rise.”

“If anyone asks, we’ll say that my watch stopped working and you suggested he look at it.”

“Good thinking” Robert said and called for the butler, “Carson, could you send Thomas up please.”

“Is something wrong, milord?” Carson said, looking seriously concerned about why they would want a footman in the library.

“Not at all, there seems to be a problem with Lord Merton’s pocket watch, I thought he might be able to take a look at it.”

“Very good, sir.” Carson said and left. That man had the worst servant’s blank Dickie had ever seen.

 

*

 

Thomas was about to take the tea set upstairs to arrange on the serving trolley next to the customary tower of cakes and sandwiches. He was debating whether he should steal a Viennese biscuit when no one was looking when Mr Carson stormed down from the servery with a face like an avalanche.

“His lordship has requested your presence in the small library.” the butler said.

“Did he say why?” Thomas said worriedly. This couldn’t be about the wine, could it? Or worse, perhaps the Duke had accused him of something, just to twist the knife. But Phillip had left weeks ago, why would it come up now? No, it had to be the wine. He had thought he had covered it up pretty well, and it was only one bottle, but Carson had eyes like a hawk and a head for figures and probably cared more about his lordship’s wine cellar than the entire male staff.

“It doesn’t matter if he did or he didn’t. You’ll do as you’re told.” Mr Carson said accusingly. Either he genuinely didn’t know or he wasn’t going to let him come up with an explanation.

The tea set abandoned, he hurried through the servants hall where the maids were making a fuss over William still being homesick. What a baby! His parents only lived down the road. He saw them after church every Sunday where his mum would load him up with tea and homemade biscuits and sandwiches with the crusts cut off. It stung all the more that Thomas’s own mother had died some months earlier, but his sister had only bothered to tell him after the funeral. That was something to cry about, but Thomas was glad he had been able to remain composed in public.

“You wanted to see me milord?” he said after he was invited into the library.

“Ah Thomas, do have a seat.” Lord Grantham said.

“My lord?” Thomas stopped short. Never in the history of England had a servant been asked to sit on his master’s furniture.

“I must insist, it would be better if you are sitting down for this.” Thomas perched cautiously on the edge of the sofa as though it might clamp down on him like a bear trap, and to his surprise Lord Grantham handed him a tumbler of whiskey. “This is my dear friend, Lord Merton. He has something rather important to tell you.”

“How do you do, Thomas.” Lord Merton said, seated in the armchair directly opposite him. He looked to be around Lord Grantham’s age, tall with a long face. He was looking at him strangely. Perhaps the Duke had gone and told all his friends that Thomas did more undressing than dressing if asked and he had shown up to sample the goods. Well at least he was only old, and not old and ugly.

“How do you do, My lord.” he said, his mind searching for any hint of what could possibly be going on.

“Well, I suppose I shall give you gentlemen some privacy.” Lord Grantham said, and to Thomas’s surprise left them alone together.

“W-was there something you needed, my lord?” Thomas stammered after a few moments passed and Lord Merton hadn’t stopped staring at him. He felt caught off guard and didn’t know what to do.

“No, no.” Lord Merton said, suddenly remembering himself, “Oh dear, I feel like I’ve rehearsed what I was going to say to you a thousand times, but I seem to have forgotten where to start. I’m terribly sorry to just spring this on you so soon after losing your m- mother,” he tripped over the words, “My condolences by the way.”

“How did you know about that?” Thomas said, so surprised he dropped all formality. He hadn’t told anyone about his mum dying. He had only found out himself a few weeks ago.

“You see, your mother used to work for me, over twenty years ago. She wrote me a letter before she passed away.” Lord Merton carried on, “And there might be a chance that you are actually...” he took a breath “My son.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Thomas said, confused, horrible images flying through his mind, “You mean to say that you and her…”

“No, no, not like that. Perhaps you’d better read the letter, she explains it better than I could.” the other man said and passed him an opened envelope. It was definitely his mother’s handwriting. He read the letter, then not quite understanding what he was reading, he read it a second time.

“Freddy?” Thomas said incredulously. It was all nonsense of course. His mother had never even mentioned going back into service. But if it was true, he certainly couldn’t imagine himself as a Freddy. No, it was impossible. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,” he said “but mum was always having strange notions like that. I mean she was harmless, mostly, but she had all these strange thoughts like if she didn’t scrub the floors in a very specific way we would all catch typhus and die, or if she didn’t check the door to the coal cellar five times a child might fall down the shoot and die, or if she rode on an omnibus the horses might trample a child to death. A lot of her fantasies involved children dying and it being her fault. It really agitated her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she convinced herself I had died in infancy, and she’d abducted someone else's baby.”

“I suppose that’s a possibility, but you really do look like my late wife. I could see it in the photographs your sister showed me but in person, I can’t explain it, you have the same sort of disgruntled expression when you’re worried.” Lord Merton told him. Thomas furrowed his brow, “Yes, that expression exactly. I spoke to your father and your sister, and they confirmed some things for me. And there was some evidence among my late wife’s belongings that she knew about you and actively conspired to keep your true identity a secret from me. Certain discrepancies in her accounts that match the amounts and timeframes mentioned in the letter. I feel like there’s a real chance that Mrs Barrow was telling the truth.”

His father? Thomas was surprised his dad was even willing to admit they were related, let alone help a Baron with such a ridiculous story. 

“Maybe you just want it to be true, my lord. Besides, even if it were true, how would you ever prove it?”

“Perhaps. When I learned about Freddy’s death I came straight home, and when I saw his little body I thought, ‘That can’t be him, that’s not my son.’ But the doctor convinced me that children can look different in death, especially after such a terrible illness. But there is a way we can prove it. Conclusively. I have a cast of Freddy’s hands from when he was a baby, if they match your fingerprints with the ones on the casts then we’ll know for certain. It might be difficult to get it to court if there is a match, but if we could convince a court that you’re Freddy and get you declared alive that would make you my eldest son and my heir,” he sighed.

Thomas suspected he was dreaming, he often had dreams where he came across large amounts of money or became famous, and would always wake up sleep drunk and confused before his disappointing reality came back to him.

“So, you would have to look at my fingerprints?” Thomas said, “And then what, I’ll just move into your house and play happy families.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be more complicated than that, but in essence, yes.” Lord Merton said, “You would need to learn about the estate, and I imagine it’ll be quite a controversial undertaking. The press will certainly want to know about it, and I’m afraid your younger brothers might need a little time to get used to the idea.”

“Brothers?”

“Oh yes, Larry is seventeen and Tim is fourteen. Would you like to see a picture?” Thomas nodded as it would be rude not to. Lord Merton presented him with a wallet sized photograph of a pair of young boys with what Thomas assumed to be their mother in a rose garden. None of the subjects looked particularly pleasant despite their good looks.

“Don’t you think they would be upset if I just appeared and laid claim to their inheritance? Don’t you think they’ll contest it?” he thought about Lady Grantham and Lady Mary trying to contest the entail and all of the arguments they had been having about it.

“I’m sure they will but if we can officially get you declared alive there won’t be much they can do.”

“Don’t you think that would be a little awkward around the breakfast table.” Thomas said sarcastically.

“Probably, but they’ll have to learn to live with it. They’ll hardly be penniless, if that’s what you’re worried about. Their mother left them each a generous inheritance.”

Thomas was more worried about what they would do to him if they had a grudge. He’d served the upper classes for long enough to know that most of them were completely amoral, particularly when it came to money and even more particularly when it came to people they considered beneath them. The Duke of Crowborough came to mind.

“Still, it seems like I would be upsetting the apple cart.”

“You just let me worry about that.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I understand that this would be a big change” Lord Merton sighed, “But think of all the things you would be able to do. You could go into politics, or you could go to Oxford, pursue the scholar’s life… If you had the means to do anything you wanted, what would you do? What did you want to be when you were a child?”

“When I was a child, I wanted to be Johnny Briggs.” Thomas scoffed. 

“Oh, you’re a cricketing man?” Lord Merton said excitedly, as though the prospect wasn’t completely ridiculous.

“Yes, I was quite good at it. I was training to try out for Lancashire before…”

“Well, there’s no reason you can’t get back into it as an amateur. You’re still very young.” the Baron suggested, which sounded absolutely barmy. Imagine being so rich that you could be a champion cricketer just for the fun of it.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. It sounds very exciting. Your father mentioned you were considering the priesthood.”

“No, that was always mum’s idea.” Thomas said. “You don’t mind though? That I’m a catholic?”

“Well aside from not being able to marry into the royal family, I don’t think it makes much of a difference. We’re quite a secular family you see.”

“What I really wanted to do, when I finished school, was to study medicine.” Thomas said. IT surprised him that he wanted to give a sincere answer, “I was already looking at scholarship grants but, well circumstances change.”

“That’s incredible. I always wanted to be a doctor but my father forbade it.” Lord Merton cried. “It seems the whole purpose of the Grey family is to be in the Commons then the Lords. What was it about medicine that piqued your interest?”

“Mum was often ill, I wanted to learn how to make her better.”

“Well, I don’t want to be my father. I’ve always wanted my children to pursue their own dreams. If you want to be a doctor, I would support you, whether I can legally recognise you as my heir or not.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“Not at all, plenty of older students attend university. We might have to get you a tutor to help you pass the entrance exam, but it’s hardly impossible. Please say you’ll consider it.”

“University?”

“No. Being my son. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I want you to think about how you want to proceed. If you’re happy with your life as it is and you don’t want anything to do with me, then I’ll respect your decision, but it would make me so happy to be certain of it. Even if I can’t get you legally recognised as my heir, I would still like to do something for you. See you taken care of.”

Now that sounded a lot better than being the next Baron Merton! Something this bizarre would probably never even make it to court. If they would proceed with the case, well, there was no way the nobility would allow someone like him among their ranks whether he was Lord Merton’s son or not. He would be like a baby bird rejected by his parents once a human had rescued it and returned it to its nest. But if the evidence could convince Lord Merton and not the high court, all the better for him. All he would have to do was play the dutiful son and Thomas could live in privacy while his rich new father set him up with a comfortable life, and he could tell Mr Carson to stuff it. 

“I- Yes.” he said, before he could overthink it.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I want to know if you’re my father,” he clarified.

“Oh that’s wonderful news. Are you quite sure? I won’t begrudge you from taking some time to think.” Lord Merton looked as though he might cry. That kind of unbridled joy was not something Thomas was used to.

“No, I’m sure.” Thomas said, although his stomach flipped with nerves. It was a gigantic risk that would probably cost him his job if he didn’t get the results he wanted.

“Is everything all right?” Lord Grantham said as he poked his head around the door.

“Thomas has agreed to meet with the fingerprint specialist.” Lord Merton said.

“That’s wonderful news. I certainly hope you will find what you’ve been searching for.”

“My lord, what will happen if it turns out I’m not Lord Merton’s son.”

“Well, I suppose If we don’t tell anyone about this until we know the results, then if we are mistaken you can come back to work and we’ll forget this ever happened. Or if you’d rather leave I’ll make sure Mr Carson gives you a glowing reference.” The Earl said. Thomas was skeptical that it would be ‘glowing’. Things had soured with Mr Carson somewhat after the whole debacle with Mr Bates and he still wasn’t sure if the Butler had found out about the missing wine or not. “The first step is to get your fingerprints examined to make sure that Lord Merton’s theory is correct. The question is, where should we put you while it’s being arranged?”

“Put me, my lord?”

“Well we can’t exactly have you serving us if there’s a possibility that you’re Dickie’s son.” Lord Grantham said, “I could give you some leave.”

“It’s quite alright, Robert, I’ve already prepared for this eventuality. Mrs Barrow passed away recently, we can say that your family needs you for something, to help with the shop while your father is ill, perhaps. Do you have anywhere you can stay for a while?”

“No, sir.”

“Not to worry, I’ve booked a room for you under the name Frederick Grey, here’s the address,” he handed him a slip of paper and an envelope from his inside pocket. “Here’s some money for the train and your meals. Take the next available train to London and I’ll send word once I’ve made the arrangements.” Thomas looked at the envelope of cash he had been handed. Even at a glance, it was more than he made in a month. The hotel address, The Wellington, seemed innocuous enough and was most likely a pub.

“But wouldn’t it seem strange, asking for that much leave?” Thomas asked.

“I’ll just explain everything to Carson, he’ll be discreet I assure you.” 

“I’d really rather he didn’t know, sir.” Thomas said.

I agree, we can’t risk this getting out before we have prepared ourselves.

“Who’s to say the Barrows won’t go to the press, or that priest who passed on the letter? I daresay Carson is more trustworthy than them.” Lord Grantham said, looking a little offended.

While Lord Grantham had explained everything to Mr Carson, the butler’s face turned red with fury then ashen grey, then he looked as though he might faint. Lord Grantham offered him a brandy and in a most uncharacteristic act, the butler drank it in one gulp and asked for another. At that point, Thomas had been sent to his room to pack. He decided to take as much as he could, he didn’t have that many possessions and after Carson’s reaction to the news he didn’t think it would be wise to come back. He managed to pack most of his things, but would have to leave some of his books behind as they wouldn't fit in his suitcase. Finally he changed out of his livery and into his brown suit and and shut his bedroom door behind him.

“You never told me your mother died.” Miss O’Brien said, cornering him by the servants entrance. Thomas was about to slip away without anyone noticing but he had forgotten that this was when she usually took her smoking break and she had ambushed him. Mr Carson had evidently stuck to the cover story they had devised that his father’s health had taken a bad turn and that he was needed to run the shop in his absence.

“You never asked.” Thomas said.

“No need to jump down my throat. I just didn’t realise. No wonder you’ve been so miserable lately.”

“It isn’t as though we were close.” Thomas explained. “I didn’t think my family would want me around now that she’s gone but I suppose I was wrong.”

“Maybe this is a good thing.” O’Brien suggested, “Maybe your dad has seen sense and he wants you back in the family business.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m surprised Mr Carson would let you leave right away when we have a guest for dinner.” Damn, she was suspicious, and she was cleverer than him so coming up with a convincing lie would be difficult.

“He wasn’t happy about it. But I need to be there to open up tomorrow.” He said. That sounded reasonable didn’t it? Unless she noticed that-

“When did your father write to you by the way?” she asked.

“What?” Fuck! She’d given him enough rope to hang himself and he’d gone straight to the gallows. They both knew full well that Thomas hadn’t received any mail since the Duke stopped writing to him.

“I just find it a little strange that Lord Grantham asks to speak with you with Lord Merton present and now you’re asking Mr Carson for leave.” Miss O’Brien said triumphantly.

“Lord Merton just wanted me to take a look at his pocket watch. It was an easy fix, he just overwound it. The two things are completely unrelated?” Thomas said weakly.

“Completely unrelated, my foot. What are you hiding?”

“I’m very sorry Miss O’Brien but I must be going.” Thomas cried, pushing past her and practically sprinting down the gravel path.

“I’ll find out eventually!” he heard her call after him.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Summary:

In which Thomas ends up with his fingerprints on file.

 

The further away he got from Downton, first on the bus to Thirsk and then the afternoon train, the more he began to have second thoughts. It was growing dark when Thomas arrived in London and he bought a newspaper and a pocket map of the city from a kiosk by the station. He paused for a moment and then went back and bought a copy of the Lady. He knew that whatever happened, he couldn’t go back to Downton and face Mr Carson. So he might as well start looking for another job. Even if they did match his fingerprints, getting a court to accept something like this would be another matter. Lord Merton seemed like the sort who might give him a helping hand initially, but Thomas didn’t really know the man. It wouldn’t be wise to just take him at his word.

He quickly found the street where The Wellington was located, picked up his room key and spent the remaining hours before bed looking for job vacancies. There wasn’t much going. A few footman positions all in equally bleak parts of the country (a sideways move at best), a valet job for a young man in London but the salary was barely more than what he earned now and working for a single man living alone meant one would have to do everything around the house. Then to his surprise there was a position for a butler in Downton. He had been so distracted by his bizarre encounter with Lord Merton that he had forgotten that Mr Carson had sent the ads out the week before to staff the new heir’s new house. It was a shame, he had planned to apply for that job. Thomas decided to apply for the rest of them just on the off-chance. 

He had been excited about having a few days off with nothing to do. The room that had been arranged for him was not grand by any means but it was nicer than what he could have afforded on his own and it was a luxury to have a double bed to himself with a soft mattress compared to the wrought iron cots the servants had to sleep on, but like clockwork he found himself waking at six o’clock like he did every morning and he was bored out of his mind by the time dinner rolled around. 

Not wanting to stay cooped up, he spent the next few days exploring the city, traipsing around galleries and museums and browsing the British Library. He had never had the chance to do that sort of thing when he had come down for the season. His first year he had been more interested in the nightlife, and the second he had spent all his time off with Phillip.

By the fifth day, the concierge passed him a telegram from Lord Merton, saying that he would be coming to London the next day and that they would be meeting with his solicitor at two o’clock. He barely slept all night. This would be it, this might be the last time he fell asleep as Thomas Barrow, the last day of his old life. The prospect was both thrilling and terrible all at once.

By twelve o’clock the next day, he felt paralyzed with anxiety and had worked his way through a fresh pack of cigarettes and three pints of bitter as he waited at the bar with a copy of the Times and a meat pie for luncheon. Drinking at lunchtime did little to settle his nerves. This whole business had felt like a fun adventure in the beginning but as his meeting with Lord Merton drew closer the reality of his situation began to hit him. He had spent so long worrying about what might happen to him if it turned out he wasn’t Lord Merton’s son that he had overlooked the much more worrying prospect of what would happen to him if he was. 

It would mean his family, such as they were, was not his family, that his name was not his name, that Thomas Barrow had been dead for decades. And what of his new family? He had observed the upper classes from the safety of servants' corridors and knew that whatever petty cruelties the likes of Miss O’Brien and himself could inflict were nothing compared to people who had grown up in a world where they owned everything and could do almost anything without consequences. If he were to enter that world he would become a target with no defenses. 

He might have had a bit of an edge from being a servant. Mr Carson had drummed every minuscule rule of etiquette into him that he could probably recite Walter Cox Green verbatim. Aside from that he was just an ordinary man, perhaps with a slightly better education than most, but he had left school at fourteen like most people of his station. He had only learned rudimentary Latin and forgotten all of it as soon as the exam was over. He had never left England. He didn’t know anything about money beyond keeping the shop accounts. He had never ridden a horse, and thought fox hunting was cruel and disrespectful to farmers. He could fish and use a shotgun but he was hardly an expert. He doubted that the high and mighty would react kindly if they found out he and his dad had once tried their hand at poaching on Saddleworth Moor, and had feasted on a stolen hare and red grouse. 

“Thomas, oh good there you are.” Thomas jumped, he had been so lost in his worries that he hadn’t noticed Lord Merton come in. “Was the room all right?”

“Quite all right, my lord.” Thomas said.

“Oh please, call me Dickie. It doesn’t feel right having you address me like a servant given the circumstances.”

“Perhaps we could settle on Lord Merton until we know for sure.” He definitely wasn't ready to start calling his potential father Dickie. 

“Very well, I suppose this is all a little strange. Good heavens, is that a pint you're drinking?”

“I'm..so sorry my lord… I mean Lord Merton.” Thomas stammered. Of course he wouldn't approve of him drinking his money away in the middle of the day. He must look like an absolute reprobate.

“I'll have whatever he's having.” Lord Merton called to the barman, much to Thomas’s astonishment. “I’m certainly in need of a drink. I haven’t been this nervous since my wedding day.”

“Oh,”

“We'll be meeting the fingerprint analyst at my solicitors office after this. Then…”

“We’ll know.”

“Yes, we’ll know.”

Once they arrived at the office, the cab ride spent in nervous silence, Thomas was introduced to two gentlemen, Lord Merton’s solicitor Mr Reeve and Mr Daniels, a man who worked as a criminalist for Scotland Yard. The prospect of the metropolitan police having his fingerprints on file was a little worrying,  and Thomas had needed to retake some of the prints several times because his hands were shaking so much. Then the casts were taken from a safe concealed in a back room somewhere and Mr Daniels started the painstaking process of taking prints from each of the tiny fingers with some sort of powdered ink. The little plaster hands were disconcerting in their stark whiteness, as though they belonged to a ghost reaching up through the wood of the desk. He couldn’t help thinking about the poor dead child in his mother’s letter, possibly the real Thomas Barrow if her story was true. 

Once the prints were made to his satisfaction, Mr Daniels began to study them in great detail using a loupe eyepiece similar to the one’s he and his father had used when they assembled watches, and a tiny stylus which he explained he used to count the friction ridges. After what felt like hours, he cleared his throat, looking rather astonished.

“This was quite the challenge. Normally the comparison prints are the same size. We don’t have many instances of looking at infant fingerprints. Not many baby burglars around, you see.” Daniels chuckled, once he was finished and had taken copious notes and even a few sketches. “But it looks as though aside from a scar on the left thumb, all ten of the prints taken from Mr Barrow match the ones on the casts. They have the same whorl patterns, the same core patterns and the same minutiae. For example both sets have a ridge dot in the same place on the right index finger.” he concluded, placing the loupe over one of Thomas’s prints so that said dot was magnified. “Both sets have a bifurcation across the right thumb. I could go on and on. The similarities are so consistent that I would confidently say these prints belonged to the same person.”

“You’re joking.” Thomas blurted out.

“No Mr Barrow, I’m quite serious. Or should I say Mr Grey?”

Thomas was stunned into silence and barely listened to the rest of the conversation. This wasn’t some stupid hoax or misunderstanding, this was actually happening.

“If you were to take this to court, Lord Merton, you will mostly be required to get a second opinion. But Mr Daniels is well respected in this field, some would say he is the foremost expert,  and his conclusion is most likely correct.” Reeve said. “Combined with all the other evidence we’ve collected, the testimonies from the boy’s family, Lady Merton’s maid, Mrs McLeod, the artist who made the casts, I think we can make a convincing argument.”

“I think perhaps Thomas and I should discuss what he wants to do before we take any further action.” Lord Merton said, perhaps noticing his distress, “It has been quite a day.”

Thomas checked his watch and realized it was past five o’clock. Lord Merton, no, Dickie, no his father , took him to a little brasserie somewhere in Soho for an early supper. Thomas felt acutely aware that they looked incredibly conspicuous. The restaurant was quiet at that time of evening and not particularly fashionable but if anyone did recognise Lord Merton out with a much younger, lower class man in a notorious entertainment district, there was bound to be talk.

“Don’t worry, anyone who would know me here would have his own secrets to keep.” Lord Merton said. “I feel like celebrating, don’t you. I say we get the bollinger and some filet steaks.”

“I… all right.” Thomas conceded. He had only ever eaten beef filet once in his life, when some dinner guests had canceled at the last minute and Mrs Patmore had added the half eaten beef wellington to the servant’s dinner. It had been glorious, but when the food arrived, the meat was tender and cooked to perfection and served with some sort of creamy potato dish with a French name he couldn’t pronounce and haricot verts. 

“It was quite dreadful after you left.” Dickie told him as they were served their dessert, a peach melba served on a meringue swan. “Robert and I had to sit through dinner and pretend everything was normal and to make things worse Lady Violet was there and she can read us all like a chalkboard menu. She knew something was being kept secret and Robert is the worst liar I have ever seen so now she definitely knows we're keeping a secret.”

“Do you know the Dowager Countess well, sir?” Thomas asked. He knew Lord Merton was friends with Lord Grantham but he wasn’t sure how well he knew the rest of the family.

“She's my late wife’s aunt.” 

That was strange. He didn’t realize Lady Merton was connected to the Crawleys. They had never mentioned her and when they had received the news that Lord Merton was coming to visit the Dowager Countess had made some remark about not wanting to speak ill of the dead but that Lady Merton would be in good company but not in a better place. Then the realization hit him.

“Your late wife as in…?”

“Your mother, yes. but since Elizabeth's mother had passed away before we met, the Dowager Countess might as well have been my mother in law.” Lord Merton said. “Did I not tell you that?”

“No!” Thomas cried, “Do you mean to say that Lord Grantham is my cousin?”

“First cousin once removed, I believe. Maybe, I always get these things wrong. He’s your mother’s first cousin.”

“So I’ve been waiting on my cousins for two years. Jesus Christ, I’ve dressed Lord Grantham.  I’ve seen him in his pants. One time when I was valeting for him he called for me in the middle of the night to bring him a cheese sandwich.” Doing these things as a servant was just part of the job and one could sort of mentally distance oneself from the more intimate aspects of domestic service. But as a family member, it changed everything.

“I suppose that would make things a little awkward.” Dickie said, “But I’m sure in the future we’ll all have a good laugh about it.”

“Must we really take this to court, sir?” Thomas said what was weighing on his mind. “Could we not just keep this to ourselves and leave it at that?”

“No, I’m afraid I have to pursue this.” Dickie said, “I understand the prospect must be daunting for you, and I can’t promise that I will be able to protect you from any negative attention, but this is your birthright and I owe it to you to make sure that it’s protected.”

“So what happens now?” Thomas asked, anxiety churning in his full stomach.

“I’ll take care of everything. I believe I have all the evidence I need and with any luck you might not even have to appear in court.” Dickie said, “In the meantime I’ll rent you a flat to stay in temporarily until this business is sorted. I think York will do nicely. It’ll be close enough for me to visit but anonymous enough for you to keep a low profile.”

“A flat, sir?” A flat? In York? Now that was certainly an interesting prospect.

“I would happily have you stay at Cavenham Park but the boys are home for the summer and I’d rather everything was settled before I introduce them to you. I hope you don’t mind staying at the hotel a little longer while I make the arrangements.”

“Not at all, sir.” Thomas didn’t have any desire to meet his new ‘brothers’ and if the court case fell through then he might avoid it entirely.

“You see, I love Larry and Tim, they have many admirable qualities… only, if they find out about this they’ll immediately run to their uncle Lawrence in New York who will try and get this whole thing thrown out. It would be better for us if they contested the court's decision after the fact than before, if you know what I mean.” Thomas wasn’t sure if he did but he assumed it would be harder to get a judge to go back on his decision than to influence him before he had made it.

“Sir,” he said uselessly.

“Oh please don’t call me Sir. Consider calling me Dickie or even father if it’s not too soon.” Dickie pleaded, “I know it’s all rather strange and it isn’t official yet but you’ve seen the evidence and I don’t need any more convincing.”

“I’m sorry, s-” Thomas started and stopped himself, “It’s all been a little overwhelming. As though this is a dream.”

“I know how you feel.” Dickie reassured him, “If I had known you were alive all this time I would never have stopped looking for you. But we have a second chance now, an opportunity to put things right and the rest of our lives to mend things.” The sincerity of the statement took Thomas by surprise. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. It dawned on him that Lord Merton was serious, that he actually intended to be his father, that he loved him before he even knew him. 

“I might not be the sort of son you wanted,” he said. He had been perfectly happy to take the man’s money in the beginning but this was beginning to be too much. 

“You’re the son I wanted purely by virtue of being my son.” Dickie said, “Now you must tell me everything about yourself. Leave nothing out, I’ve missed nearly twenty one years of your life and I shall need to catch up.”

“Oh!” Thomas panicked, the strange hopeful feeling that had bubbled up within him was quickly squashed. On no account could Lord Merton know what he was really like. “There’s not much to tell really. It wasn’t a great childhood but plenty of people have had it worse. Dad, that is Mr Barrow and I, never got along but everyone else was all right. I went to grammar school, I did well enough, played a lot of sports. Mum was often ill so my sister looked after us, her and our neighbour. Up until last week I thought I was very ordinary.”

“Those are all broad facts. I mean what were you like? What food did you refuse to eat? What games of make-believe did you play? What frightened you?”

Thomas thought for a moment.

“I suppose I was an anxious child. I hated tripe, I couldn’t stand the stuff. Davey and I would often pretend to be Pirates. He was Davy Jones of course and I was Thomas Veale. And when I was little my grandmother terrified us all with this story about this sort of river hag called Jenny Greenteeth.”

“Jenny Greenteeth?”

“Yeah, she lives under the duckweed and pulls children into the water and drowns them if they get too close.”

“I’m sure your grandmother just wanted to stop you from getting too close to the water.” Dickie chuckled.

“Well, it worked.”

They chatted on until it was time to pay the restaurant bill and continued as they walked back to Thomas’s hotel. Before he bid Thomas farewell, Lord Merton passed him a small box covered in red leather.  

“I meant to give you this for your twenty-first birthday but I suppose this is a much more momentous occasion. I had it commissioned the year you were born and, well, since you know a thing or two about watches I thought you might appreciate it.” he said.

It was a quarter repeating pocket watch with an 18 karat gold double hunter case with an enamel dial with radial Roman numerals, and blued ‘pomme’ hands. He flipped the back case open to see the bridge movement, perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on save for Charlie the greengrocer’s boy who had brought him extra apples. Two hammers, two gongs, two barrels, a gold screw compensation balance, a counterpoised lever, and eleven garnet jewel bearings. This single watch was worth more than an entire year's wages, more than Mr Carson’s wages even.

“This is a Breguet.” Thomas said, eyes wide with wonder.

“Why yes it is.”

“This is... This company made a watch for Marie Antoinette.” he continued, as though that would explain everything he was feeling.

“Did they really? How fascinating.” Dickie said.

“Yes, but it was so complicated that it took them over forty years to finish it and well, she was long dead by then.”

“Look at the engraving.”

Thomas looked at the inside of the front case where the words ‘F.J.G November 2nd 1891’ were engraved in a flowing monogram.

“That’s your real birthday.” Dickie said.

“I’m three days younger.” Thomas said, surprised. He had never even considered that.

“I’m afraid so.”

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Summary:

In which the Crawleys react to the strange news.

Notes:

Hi Hi, It's only going to be a short chapter this week. I recently broke up with my long-term partner and had to move back in with my family temporarily so life's been a little chaotic trying to organise things. But I've been finding solace in writing again, so that's nice.

 

“I see… Well, I wish you the best of luck. Do keep me updated… Yes, Goodbye.” Robert said into the mouthpiece of the telephone then hung up. “Carson?” He called the butler who happened to be passing by the doorway.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I’m glad I caught you. It would seem as though Lord Merton’s… theory was correct. The fingerprints were a perfect match.” the Earl said. 

“My lord.” Carson said as blankly as he could but his face always gave away his true feelings on the matter, as though the natural order had been severely violated.

“He’s going to pursue it with the high court, so naturally Thomas won't be coming back.”

“Well, that’s a small mercy, I suppose.” Carson rumbled.

“At least not as a footman.” Robert clarified. “After all, he is family.”

“What!” the butler’s head snapped around as though he were an owl.

“Robert? Is everything all right?” The two men looked up to see Lady Grantham in the doorway.

“I was just explaining to Carson that Thomas won't be returning to work here.” Robert said. Carson gave a quick bow and then hastily left the room. Robert didn’t blame him.

“Well that's a shame, but perhaps on the bright side that means he’s reconciled with his family. But why would you know that before Carson?” his wife said, confused.

“I think it would be best to fetch the girls before I explain. There might be some attention from the press because of this and I shall have to instruct them on how to behave.”

Once the whole family had congregated in the library, Mary set upon him like a heron to a fish.

“What’s wrong, papa? Is this something to do with the new heir?” she said.

“Not exactly, not our heir anyway. Remember when Dickie Grey came to visit the other day?” the girls nodded, “He was looking for Thomas. Some things came to light after his wife’s death and he has reason to believe that Thomas is his son.”

“Are you sure this is appropriate for the girls to hear, Robert?” Cora said, worriedly. “I know he was going through a terrible time with his bereavement when poor Elizabeth and baby Freddy died, but that's no excuse for...”

“No, no, not like that. I mean, Thomas is actually Freddy, his legitimate son. He had been kidnapped this whole time”

“Thomas? Our Thomas? The footman?” Edith said, incredulously.

“What do you mean, Thomas is Lord Merton’s son?” Mary said.

“He’s quite convinced. Swapped at birth apparently with Mrs Barrow’s son. The real Thomas Barrow died as an infant and she took baby Freddy and raised him as her own.”

“Oh how dreadful!” Cora gasped.

“So Dickie is currently building a case to get him declared alive again so he can recognise him as his true heir.” Robert explained after he had relayed the whole story in better detail.

“What a horrible thing to happen.” Sybil said sympathetically. “To have one’s son be alive the whole time and to never know it. How could Lady Merton have kept such a thing from him.”

“I never liked Ada but that was truly monstrous.” Cora said. Robert often forgot that she and Lady Merton had been in the same social circles as when they were girls.

“Poor old Larry won't be too happy, losing his inheritance like that.” Sybil said, although Robert thought he detected a hint of schadenfreude in her tone. He couldn’t blame her really, over the years she had been on the receiving end of many of Larry’s clumsy romantic advances. It had all been innocent up to that point, but Robert didn’t have much patience for a boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Oh, Larry will be just fine,” he said.

“But the whole thing’s absurd. What would someone like Thomas even do with a Barony? What would he talk about over dinner? How to polish silver?” Mary scoffed.

“Mary! If Dickie is right, and there's very convincing evidence that he is, then his eldest son was effectively kidnapped for twenty years. You could at least show a little sympathy.”

“It’s completely ridiculous, first we have to hand Downton over to some nobody from nowhere and now our footman is going to inherit a peerage, oh and he’s our cousin now. Don't tell me he's ahead of me in the line of inheritance as well or I shall scream?”

“He’s not ahead of you, Mary, he's not from a male line.” Robert almost shouted, then took a breath to collect himself, “But I suppose as things stand now, he would be next in line after Sybil.” Robert sighed, “But if he is confirmed alive by the courts then he'll be cousin James’s next of kin and will inherit his money and his property.”

“Sumners End, you mean.” Mary said, incensed. 

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“But I loved that little house, you said you were going to give it to me.” Mary cried. Sumners End had been picked out as the house she and Patrick would have lived in once they were married.

“Well perhaps if you ask Thomas very nicely, he’ll let you work as his housekeeper when the new heir throws us out.” Edith said snidely.

“I can't believe this is happening. It’s all just a silly joke someone's been playing.”

“The Dowager Countess, my lord.” Carson had returned to announce his mother while William brought up the rear wheeling in a trolley laden with tea and cakes. They had all been so caught up in their argument that he hadn’t heard the doorbell.

‘Oh God! Why now?’ Robert thought.

“Why do I feel as though I’ve walked into some sort of tawdry melodrama?” Lady Violet said as she settled herself into an overstuffed armchair that had unofficially been assigned her seat whenever she came to visit.

“I’m afraid you’re not far off, Mama.” Robert sighed as he had to explain the situation for the second time, third time if one were to include Carson. 

“I thought that boy looked familiar.” Lady Violet said when he had finished. “I thought it was just because he used to work for Lord Crawford but he’s the spitting image of dear Elizabeth.” 

“Yes, I’d normally never believe something like this but the evidence Dickie collected was very convincing.” Robert said, “And now that it's been pointed out, he does look a bit like Elizabeth. She really did have marvellous cheekbones, and so did James. I admit I was quite envious of their looks as a boy.”

“I was there, you know, when she died.” Lady Violet said, “No one else would have been able to coax me out to Rochdale. I held that boy in my arms and I thought that it wasn’t fair that she would never get to see him grow up when she had wanted to be a mother so desperately.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very tragic.” Mary said, “But why does he have to show up now?”

“You should be taking an interest in this case, my dear.” the dowager said, “I certainly shall. He’s family, and one should always stand behind their family.”

“Well said.” Robert said, “We shall have to put on a united front. It might strengthen Dickie’s case.”

“Not to mention that the two of you are practically in the same boat.” Lady Violet whispered to her granddaughter.

“Granny, you cannot compare my situation to Thomas’s.” Mary said, indignantly.

“No. In many ways, he has the stronger case.” Lady Violet said, “But if the courts are willing to entertain a case as strange as this then putting through an act of parliament to separate the estate from the earldom so you can inherit might seem reasonable by comparison.” She raised her voice again and addressed the room, “Perhaps I shall invite the boy to the Dower House, get to know him a little better outside of his livery.”

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Summary:

In which Thomas gets fitted for a new wardrobe and makes some new aquaintances.

 

“It’s true, I heard his Lordship telling the Dowager Countess. Thomas is Baron Merton’s son.” William said to the small group of staff that had gathered around him in the servant’s hall. Anna looked up from her mending. That was certainly a turn up for the books.

“You’re putting me on. You mean he’s his bastard?” Miss O’Brien said, eliciting a few gasps from the younger staff at using such language, but since she was the most senior servant in the room there was nobody there to stop her. She looked incensed and Anna couldn’t help smiling to herself. She suspected that Thomas had kept it a secret from her when he left and judging by her expression Miss O’Brien was absolutely furious.

“No, that’s the thing. He’s the Baron’s eldest son with his first wife, Lord Grantham’s cousin. The Barrows kidnapped him when he were a baby and raised him. He’s the heir!” William continued. “He’ll inherit Cavenham Park, the Barony, everything. Even though Lord Merton has two other sons.”

“Oh, he’ll love that.” Anna laughed. Those Grey brothers were going to eat him alive. She had only seen Lord Merton’s sons once before when Lady Sybil was about eleven or so and she had hidden in the boot room to avoid the elder one. Anna and another housemaid had coaxed her out and the three of them had made doll’s clothes together out of fabric scraps from the rag bag.

She hadn’t had anything against Thomas, really. He was a bit abrasive, and she hadn’t liked how he had bullied William, but he could be funny sometimes and he didn’t pester the maids. Anna had put his negative qualities down to him being an arrogant young man getting his first taste of authority and that he would settle down once the novelty wore off. 

Then he had been absolutely ghastly to Mr Bates, which she mostly put down to Miss O’Brien whispering in his ear. She certainly had more to gain from such an arrangement in the long run than he did. She could understand his desire to get a better position in the house, she had similar ambitions, but there was no excuse for such behaviour. 

“But if he’s his Lordship’s cousin, does that mean he’s the heir to Downton an’ all?” Daisy asked.

“He most certainly is not!” They all looked around to see Mr Carson looming in the doorway, his face thunderous. 

“Why not, Mr Carson?” the kitchen maid said, looking confused.

“Because he’s not from a male line, silly.” Miss O’Brien butted in. 

“Quite.” Mr Carson said. “And thank heavens for small mercies. Now I hope you all understand that this is a deeply private matter and that it mustn’t leave this house.”

“It won’t be private for long.” Miss O’Brien pointed out. “There’s plenty who would be interested in a story like that.”

“That may be so, but while the court case is proceeding, Lord Merton wishes to keep Thomas’s identity a secret to the best of his abilities. He wants to make sure that Thomas will be able to lead a private life should the case be unsuccessful. If any of the details you’ve heard today are made public and I find out it came from one of you, it will cost you your position here. Is that clear.”

“Well, who would have thought that such a thing would happen to Thomas Barrow of all people. Or perhaps we should call him the Honourable Thomas Barrow.” Mrs Hughes said, jovially. 

In many ways Anna hoped they wouldn't confirm Thomas as Lord Merton’s heir. It would be an incredibly difficult adjustment. The Baron would certainly still take care of him in some way, set him up with a job somewhere or provide for him financially, but he wouldn’t be open to public scrutiny.

“Thomas is many things but honourable is not one of them.” Mr Carson grumbled.

 

*

 

The flat in York turned out to be a three story townhouse with a housekeeper and a maid. Lord Merton had said that the owner was a friend of his and that it would be sitting empty for a few months before the new tenants returned from India. It was beautiful, Georgian, red brick with large windows that wonderfully captured the afternoon light. While it didn’t have the grandeur of the Abbey, where some parts of it were nearly a thousand years old, the decor was airy and modern, the wallpaper tasteful in shades of robin’s egg blue and butter yellow. The dark wood furniture was made up of finely crafted curves and details, the sort of thing his mother would look at in catalogues and daydream about being able to afford. 

While the place was furnished, it hadn’t had any personal items in it which made it seem strange and empty. Thomas had put his meagre collection of books in the bookcase in his bedroom, but only managed to make it look more empty. Lord Merton had arranged to have some bed linens and crockery and other practical items sent up from Cavenham Park. He had been given a trunk full of what he assumed were Lord Merton’s old clothes that smelled of vetiver and moth balls. There was even silverware, plain but hallmarked all the same. Thomas was amazed that he was being trusted with such valuable items. But Lord Merton had also told him that he would happily buy him anything else he needed or buy new items if the current selection was unsatisfactory. It occurred to him that, just like the watch, his new father considered all these things to be gifts. 

He had swiped his grandfather’s watch when he had left home. It wasn’t stealing the old man had given it to him when his illness had begun to deteriorate, but he knew that his father, no, Mr Barrow now, had resented him for it and would have taken it off him. Grampy had been a cantankerous old bastard but the two of them had had a bond that might not have been openly loving but it had been clear that Thomas had been the favourite grandchild. It had meant the world to him, and he had never had the heart to sell it. The Breguet watch, by contrast, weighed heavily in his waistcoat pocket, bumping against his rib as he walked. He knew he would always be paranoid about losing something so valuable, or being robbed, but he couldn’t stop staring at it when he found himself alone. The perfect movement ticked away behind the glass, keeping perfect time. 

It had been an adjustment having people wait on him, and he suspected that they hadn’t been told that he used to be in service or they wouldn’t have been so accommodating. Luckily, Mrs Wilson and Sarah were not live-in staff and went home every evening after serving him dinner, leaving him to his own devices. Those devices were, being too nervous to sit in the drawing room, (it just didn’t feel natural) and reading late into the night and trying not to think about all the strange noises of the house settling.

Sometime during his second week in the house, Lord Merton had called on him early in the morning and had taken him in his motorcar to some as yet unknown location.

“I think if you are to appear in court, or even to have your prints tested again, you should look the part of someone who could be the long lost son of a Baron.” Lord Merton laughed after Thomas had embarrassed himself by automatically trying to sit in the front with the chauffeur and not in the back seat. “I’m afraid we shall have to raise you a class or two.”

“Well I am technically middle class.” Thomas protested. Barely, but these things still meant something and if your family owned a shop you were middle class.

“You’ll have to do better than that I’m afraid.” his father chuckled. “We’re looking for you to appear humble enough for your story to seem tragic but cultured enough for the judge to believe you could fit in seamlessly with your new station in life and not cause any embarrassment.”

“Oh well, easy then.” Thomas said with a note of sarcasm.

“You’ll be fine. The man I’m taking you to is one of the best in the area. And besides, I thought you might like something of your own instead of my terribly unfashionable hand me downs.”

The man in question was a Mr Ellis of Ellis and Sons who, if the mannequins in the front window were anything to go by, really was good. He recommended bespoke tailoring but using their less expensive wools for Thomas’s new suits, horn buttons, solid sober colours, little to no embellishment. Once Thomas had picked the fabrics from a book full of swatches, with plenty of advice from Mr Ellis and Lord Merton, he was ushered into a fitting room where he was joined by a tailor’s assistant, perhaps a year or two younger than himself. Thomas assumed he was one of the Sons.

“Would you remove your jacket and waistcoat, sir?” the man said.

He was so handsome that Thomas was momentarily stunned into silence, and blushed as he did as he was told. The assistant looked as though he had just stepped out of an illustration from a menswear advertisement. As he removed his jacket, Thomas remembered that he was wearing one of his old shirts that had been mended several times. If the tailor’s assistant noticed, he didn’t draw attention to it. 

“Are you new to York, sir?” the man asked.

“Yes, I just arrived last week as it happens.” Thomas managed to say in his best received pronunciation, as the young man slipped the tape measure around his neck. Thomas was nervous, as though he was about to be revealed as the fraud that he was. He had picked items up from Hawkes on Lord Grantham’s behalf but he had never been fitted for a suit before or been addressed as ‘sir’.

“How are you finding it?”

“There doesn’t seem to be much to do here.” 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll find something.” the assistant chuckled. “Do you know Lord Merton well?”

Thomas considered coming up with some sort of cover story but decided against it. 

“He’s my father.”

“Oh! I thought I noticed a resemblance.” the assistant said. “Sorry, I always pictured his children as being younger from the way he talks about them.”

“Does Lord Merton come here often?” Thomas asked.

“Oh yes, sir. He makes a point of patronising local businesses. It’s been a real help.” the boy said, making a note of the measurement and moving to Thomas’s shoulders, then his chest.

“The shop seems to be doing very well.” Thomas said.

“Well enough, but I have three older brothers and it doesn’t make much sense to keep us all on.” he had moved on to the arm measurement by this point.

“Oh, what will you do instead?” Thomas said. He had certainly been in the same situation with his own family, although the Ellis’s seemed to be on much friendlier terms.

“I’ve been applying to other places. I might give London a go.” the assistant said, moving first to Thomas’s waist then knelt down on his knees in front of him. “Or I could go into service, that’s always an option. Do you know if Lord Merton is looking for a valet?” 

“He doesn’t have one. But I couldn’t tell you if he wants one.” Thomas said. The servant in him baulked at the man’s impertinence. 

“And what about you, sir?” the assistant said right as he took Thomas’s inside leg measurement. The intimacy of it shocked him, and whether the young man was interested in him or just the prospect of a job, he was definitely somewhere on the violet end of the human spectrum.

“I think it’ll be quite some time before I’d be able to hire someone,” he said, truthfully.

“That’s a shame. I think I could make you look quite exceptional.” the young man said and handed him the rest of his clothes. “I’m Richard, by the way. If you ever change your mind or just want to find something to do, I usually go to the Golden Fleece of a Saturday evening. It’s in the Shambles” Definitely interested then.

“I’ll certainly see if I’m available.” Thomas said.

Thomas wasn’t the most worldly man. He had been sheltered by working in service for nearly seven years in houses that were both in the middle of nowhere and required so much work he only got Sunday mornings off during which he was supposed to go to church, and an afternoon off every fortnight. But his brief time working during the London season had taught him a thing or two. One being that his looks attracted a lot of interest, the kind that got him expensive drinks and invitations to Paris, and another was that if one was rich or part of the aristocracy they would also attract a lot of interest. But for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that looking as he did and appearing to be wealthy (correction, he would be wealthy if his case was successful) then a lot of people were going to want to fuck him.

His mind was reeling. He had never been on this end of it before, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. He remembered how it had been with Phillip, how desperate he had been to keep his attention. The memory made him flush with shame. But Richard seemed more secure in himself, and he hadn’t made any promises to him that he didn’t intend on keeping, no jobs, no houses in Provence. Why shouldn’t he go for a drink with a bloke who was like him?

 

*

 

Saturday came and Thomas waited anxiously for Mrs Wilson and Sarah to go home before changing into his old clothes, slipping on his hat and overcoat and heading to the Shambles. The Pub was already mostly full and after looking around he found that Richard wasn’t there. When it got to nine o’clock he assumed that the young tailor wasn’t coming after all and was about to leave when one of the other gentlemen at the bar leaned over and got his attention.

“It’s a bit crowded here,” he said, “I was going to go to Stubbs after this. Do you know it?”

“I’m new in town.” Thomas said. He had no idea if Stubbs was another pub or a nightclub or even a person.

“Oh, well perhaps I can show you around.” the man said. He looked to be in his mid twenties, with fair hair in a regulation cut and a moustache, perhaps not as classically handsome as Richard but certainly interesting looking. An army man if Thomas could hazard a guess, even though he wore civilian clothes.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone.” Thomas said.

“For over an hour?” the man said. So he had been watching him? “Come on, you know you want to.”

This sounded like a bad idea, but at this point Thomas was three pints deep and feeling a little sorry for himself for being stood up, so he grabbed his things and followed the man out of the pub. He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed. It was as though he and Richard had made any solid plans, but he felt deflated all the same.

“I’m Chris.” the man said. 

“Thomas.” Thomas replied. “Do you know the area well?”

“Fairly well.” Chris said but didn’t elaborate. 

‘Stubbs’ turned out to be a derelict building by the river that from the peeling sign used to be an ironmongers. Thomas was hesitant, this was the sort of alley where people got stabbed, but a doorman ushered them down some concrete steps into a sort of makeshift nightclub in the basement. A nightclub filled entirely with men. Men drinking together, dancing together, embracing. Thomas had been to a few parties for men like him, mostly hosted by Phillip, but the dynamic had been different then. There had always been the unspoken expectation that Thomas and the other lower class men who got invited were part of the entertainment. Here it seemed more free, more egalitarian.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Thomas cried.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Chris laughed and grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the makeshift dance floor. “Come on. Dance with me.”

Before he knew it, it was past midnight and apart from taking a break and drinking some absolutely disgusting whiskey, Thomas and Chris had barely stopped dancing. To his surprise, his companion also knew the Grizzly Bear and quickly took the lead to a lot of thunderous applause and bawdy catcalls from the club’s clientele. At some point they found themselves in their shirtsleeves, sweating and exhausted and kissing furiously against the wall in one of the basement’s back rooms.

“Can I touch you?” Chris asked, struggling to catch his breath.

Thomas was torn. He wanted to, desperately, but there were several other couples in the room with them doing much the same thing and he didn’t like the idea of being watched.

“Come home with me.” he blurted out. It was a terrible idea, a terrible risk, but it was the servant’s day off tomorrow and he didn’t care.

“Is it safe?” Chris asked.

“If we’re careful.”

The other man paused, taking a moment to think about it. 

“Well, it would be nice to have a bed.” he concluded, “Lead the way.”

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

Summary:

In which Thomas has a wild night and a rude awakening.

 

The walk back to where Thomas was staying was further than Chris expected as they passed the city wall and the streets began to get wider and greener and better lit. The house itself was nicer than anything he had ever seen but strangely empty and impersonal. Perhaps it wasn’t his actual home or he hadn’t got round to unpacking his things yet, he had mentioned that he was new in town or implied it when he had asked if Chris knew the area. 

“Bloody hell, this is all a bit fancy isn’t it?” he said, looking around, admiring the electric lamps. He had never seen them in a house before, you certainly couldn’t skip the dusting under such harsh light. “I had you all wrong. I’m normally good at spotting posh gits when they’re slumming it.” Maybe he was a servant or something, he certainly had the posture for it.

“It’s a temporary situation. It’s a long story.” Thomas said.

“It’s none of my business.” Chris stopped him. “Are we alone?”

“The servants have gone home, and they have tomorrow off.” 

“Word of advice, don’t let just anyone in your house or let them know who you are.” Chris said. He might have sounded a little patronising but perhaps Thomas didn’t know how these things worked.

“Are you ‘just anyone’?” 

“I hope not.” Chris said and kissed him, remembering that those lips were worth walking so far out of town for, and let Thomas lead him upstairs and begin to undress him. “You know, since we have the luxury of time and privacy, and I happened to invest in some johnnies earlier…” he began, taking the tin of Ramses condoms out of his pocket and dropping it on the bed before taking off his trousers. 

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked, his brow furrowed in a way that was so adorable Chris wanted to kiss him on the forehead. 

“Well in times like these, most blokes want me to fuck them.” Chris said, stepping out of his underwear. Or more to the point, once they saw the size of his cock, most blokes wanted him to fuck them.

“Oh! I… Wow!” Thomas fell back on the bed, as though he had jumped back in shock, his beautiful clear eyes widening.

“Thank you.” Chris chuckled.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to…That is…How can you even stand upright?” the other man said, half stammering half barely containing his laughter.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Chris reassured him.

“No, no I do. It’s just that…”

“Is this your first time?” He had certainly never been to an establishment like Stubbs before looking around with awe and wonder like a child at Christmas, and he did seem rather young. 

“No! Well, this is my first time doing that . I was always expected to take the lead in that department.” Not entirely inexperienced then, that was a relief.

“Good to know. Are you sure? I feel like I’m throwing you in at the deep end.”

“Well, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.” Thomas said, the look in his eyes was absolutely sinful, pupils blown so wide they had turned from clear skies to the deepest ocean.

 

*

 

Thomas woke up feeling pleasantly sore with a heavy arm draped across his chest. Thomas had been nervous but Chris had been a gentle and patient lover who had drawn out sensations he had never felt before. He’d always held off on getting buggered, mostly because he’d never really trusted anyone enough to do it until Phillip, and he had always wanted it the other way round. And since Phillip had proven himself to be most untrustworthy he was glad that they had never done it. There was also the sad, lingering, slightly delusional belief that bottoming would be the point of no return for him, that there would be no hope of him ever being normal once he did it. As if he had ever been normal in the first place.

“How are you feeling?” his companion mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep, lips kissing a trail from his clavicle to his jaw. 

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Could do with a shower though. Care to join me?”

“You have your own shower?”

“It’s ruined me, I can never go back to washing from a basin again. I might even make you breakfast afterwards. I’m not much of a cook, mind, but I can fry an egg.”

“You really are spoiling me.”

What followed was a rather prolonged shower that was a little cramped with the two of them standing in the bathtub yet still devolved into them getting each other off as the water turned cold. They were drying themselves off when the doorbell rang.

“Shit!” Thomas said and threw on his dressing gown and peered out the window through the heavy curtains. It was Lord Merton on his doorstep who, as though sensing he was being watched, looked up at him and waved enthusiastically. Thomas, not knowing what else to do, waved back.

“Who is it?” Chris whispered anxiously.

“Er..My dad.” Thomas said as he hurriedly put on his underwear under the robe. Chris followed suit and began picking up his clothes and started dressing.

“What?” 

“He can’t see you here.”

“Too right, he can’t. What should I do?”

“I’ll distract him while you slip out.” Thomas said, trying his best to fasten his collar but his hands were shaking too much. Chris, seemingly more calm in these sorts of situations, helped him put it right and began to put his tie on for him. “The servant’s entrance is in the kitchen in the basement, go down the main stairs and there’s a sort of hidden door under the staircase that leads to the servant’s stairs, there should be a spare key hanging up next to the fuse box.”

“All right.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Next Saturday at Stubbs?”

“Yeah all right,” Thomas said and turned to leave but Chris pulled him back into a soft kiss that made him almost forget what an awful situation they were in. 

“Well, answer the door then.” Chris laughed.

Thomas answered the door and quickly ushered Lord Merton into the drawing room.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you in the middle of washing?” his new father asked, noticing his wet hair.

“Yeah, I had a bit of a late one last night and overslept.” Thomas confessed. 

“Did you go anywhere interesting?”

“The Golden Fleece.” Was it better to lie by omission? It didn’t feel like it.

“Oh lovely? Did you see the ghost?” Dickie asked.

“Pardon?”

“The ghost. A 16th century gentleman named One Eyed Jack or so the barman told me when I went there.” 

“I didn’t see anything, but it was pretty crowded.” Thomas said. Dickie laughed out loud. It was strange to have someone in authority laugh at his jokes instead of thinking he was a smart aleck.  

“I suppose all the pubs around here claim to be the oldest or the most haunted.” Dickie said, “Anyway the reason I’m here is because the boys are staying with their cousins for the week and I thought this might be a good opportunity to show you the house.”

“Wouldn’t someone notice?”

“The staff have been given the afternoon off so they can go to the summer fete, it’ll be quite safe.”

There was a click from downstairs, presumably Chris shutting the door behind him.

“Good heavens, what was that?” Dickie said.

“Oh it’s probably kids.” Thomas said, directly lying this time. “They like to play football in the park and sometimes they hit a window or something.”

“Oh, right. But-”

“I’d love to see the house.” Thomas said quickly, switching from a weak lie to a distraction. 

“Would you really?”

“I just need to grab a bite to eat. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no thank you.”

Before he went upstairs Thomas practically sprinted into the kitchen where the door had been left open, the key still in the lock. Chris must have not closed it properly, so he shut it as quietly as he could and locked it up, then he made some toast and ate it quickly over the sink before fixing his tie and hurrying back upstairs.

Lord Merton had driven himself that day so Thomas got into the passenger seat and the pair drove towards Harrogate, leaving the city behind in favour of picturesque countryside. Thomas was hung over and sore from the night before and frankly visiting his ancestral home was the last thing he wanted to do that day, but Lord Merton had been so excited that he couldn’t exactly say no. He felt a wave of shame wash over him. 

Here was this person who was giving him unconditional love and support and pushing to get him officially declared his son, probably at great expense, and here he was lying to him and bringing strange, well endowed men home. He was a bad son to the Barrows and inevitably he would be a bad son to Dickie Grey. He could hide what he was for the moment, but sooner or later Lord Merton was going to find out, he would probably expect Thomas to get married at some point, and Thomas definitely didn’t want to have that conversation.

What was he going to do? Trap some poor woman into a loveless marriage with him for the sake of appearances? No bloody thank you. Tell his new father that he was a raging queer? Also out of the question.

“So your sons are staying with their cousins?” he asked, trying to make more of an effort.

“Yes Earl Grey and his family.” Dickie replied.

“Earl Grey?” Thomas said with disbelief. “The one with the tea named after him?”

“That was an ancestor of his, but yes that Earl Grey.”

“I’m sorry, I knew your name was Grey but I didn’t realise you were related.” Thomas said.

“You’re related to them too, don’t forget. I suppose we’re sort of the poor relations of the family, relatively speaking. Technically I am next in line to inherit should anything happen to either of his sons. Of course that would be very unlikely and incredibly unfortunate. How much do you know about the House of Grey?”

Thomas wracked his brain for anything about the Grey family he had read in Debrett’s Peerage. Mr Carson would often make him look up the Crawley’s guests so that he would know how important they were. But as far as he knew Lord Grey didn’t have any connection with the Crawley’s and so he had probably skipped his entry.

“Not much I’m afraid, other than the one with the tea was also the Prime Minister who abolished slavery.” Probably the more important fact, now that he thought about it.

“That’s right.” Dickie said, “There are many branches of the family of course who have held many titles over the centuries. We came over with the Normans, our founder Anchetil de Grey fought alongside William the Conqueror at Hastings, and since then we’ve been called to parliament, appointed as bishops and army generals, married into the royal family and for nine days we even had a queen on the throne.”

“Lady Jane Grey, you mean?” Thomas blurted out.

“Exactly.” Dickie said excitedly, “Now when it comes to our side of the family, the Barony of Merton was first created in 1323 for William de Merton. There were four de Merton Barons then the title fell into abeyance in 1490.” 

“Abeyance?”

“That’s when there’s no heir to inherit so the title gets held by the crown until someone makes a successful case for the title. Then the abeyance was terminated in 1842 when Sir Richard Grey, your great grandfather, was granted the title and became the fifth baron. I believe he found some proof that he was a direct descendant of Margaret de Merton, the last Baron’s daughter. It’s all very complicated.” his father told him as they turned off the small country road onto an even narrower country road through some woods.

As they passed the tree line out the other side Thomas caught his first glimpse of Cavenham Park. The house wasn’t particularly large compared to Downton Abbey but it was far more attractive, red brick and perfectly symmetrical like a doll's house or a novelty biscuit tin. It was equally lovely on the inside, with hand painted murals in the entrance hall that caught the afternoon light. Like all manor houses it was pristine but there were personal touches here and there, a portrait of a younger Larry and Tim hung in the library and there was a cricket bat wedged in the umbrella stand in the entrance hall. Well if his new brothers liked cricket, perhaps they could find some common ground after all.

Cavenham was surrounded by farms and orchards, the manor had its own working dairy and a cider press, but the grounds were the real highlight of the place. He had often heard the Dowager Countess comment on how beautiful the gardens were whenever Cavenham was mentioned. It had a grand lawn, an ornamental fishing lake, a rose garden, and a Chinese garden complete with a wandering stream and a folly that, according to Dickie, had been modelled on the Orchid Pavilion in Shaoxing. 

“Your great grandfather served as an ambassador to China and he and his wife really took an interest in the gardens there.” Dickie explained. It didn’t just stop at the gardens. Once they had a look around the house it became clear that Cavenham Park had an incredible collection of art, ceramics, furniture, and jade from his great grandfather’s time in Peking. 

“What do you think is the most valuable piece?” Dickie asked. Thomas knew absolutely nothing about art, Chinese art even less so. He knew from his time working at the clockmakers that the more valuable items were usually kept in glass cabinets and he had heard somewhere that certain types of jade were particularly rare and valuable.

“The horse head?” he said finally.

“That’s not a bad guess, actually.” Dickie said with surprise. “That’s from the Han dynasty, it’s two thousand years old. But the rarest item here is actually this bowl here.” He opened the cabinet and presented Thomas with a tiny bowl no bigger than a teacup with no embellishments other than its strange pale blue glaze. It was easily the most unassuming item in the collection. “This particular pottery technique is called Ru ware. These were priceless even when they were first produced during the Song dynasty almost a thousand years ago.”

“Oh, only a thousand. It’s impressive but it’s no jade horse.” Thomas teased.

“It’s a little underwhelming I know, but there are less than a hundred of these left in the whole world. They were only produced for about twenty years or so then most of them were destroyed in the Jin-song wars, the kilns were abandoned as the workers fled and ever since they have always been deeply coveted by collectors.”

“Your grandfather.” Thomas started, not knowing how to broach the subject,  “He didn’t loot all this stuff did he?” 

“What makes you think that?”

“Well from what you’ve said about him it sounds as though he might have become extremely rich from negotiating an unfair war reparations treaty with the Chinese and helping the British Empire colonise Hong Kong Island.”

“Right, that.” Dickie sighed. “Well, one hopes that he bought it all fairly but I honestly have no idea.”

By then it was getting close to five o’clock and the servants were due back from the fete soon so they got back in the car and began the drive back to York. It wasn’t until they had arrived back at Thomas’s house that Lord Merton broached the subject.

“Now, I understand that you’re young and haven’t had many opportunities to do as you please until now.” his father began. Thomas thought he was going to have a heart attack. Oh god, he knew! He knew about Chris. Why had he waited until now to confront him. “I don’t have any objections to you going out on occasion, but I hate to think of you just twiddling your thumbs all alone in this house with nothing to do but go out drinking and sleeping the day away.” Wait. That was what he was concerned about.

“It was only one time. I swear.” Thomas said, defensively.

“Even so, I think it might be wise if I hired you a tutor.”

“A tutor?” This wasn’t the reprimand he had been expecting.

“I know you haven’t decided on what you want to do yet and you won’t be able to apply to university until next year at the earliest, but you’ve been out of school for a while now and you have a lot of catching up to do. Doubly so if the case is successful. So I thought it would be best to get you started as soon as possible.”

“I…You’re probably right, yeah.” Thomas conceded. The thought of studying again made him anxious. He had been a good student as a child but that was a long time ago and he had forgotten most of what he had learned in grammar school. A least he would only embarrass himself in front of one person instead of a whole classroom.

“I can call the man I hired to tutor Larry and Tim, he’s very nice, teaches all ages, and he lives nearby.” At first Thomas had thought that this tutor was just a ruse to have someone keep an eye on him, but he wouldn’t even be living with him?

“Does he teach grown men?” he asked. All ages, sounded like he was used to teaching children.

“I’ll have you know he currently teaches evening courses at the workers college.” Lord Merton said, “What do you think?”

“All right.” Thomas said, bewildered. “Let’s give it a try.”

Notes:

Author's note: The history of the Grey family is based on the real noble family in terms of historical events. However all individual characters mentioned in the story such as Lord Merton's grandfather and the current Earl Grey and his family are completely fictional.